


Repression, Displacement... Undoing

by skydork (klismaphilia)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Altered Mental States, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Sex, Anorexia, Body Dysphoria, Body Image, Body Modification, Codependency, Dysfunctional Relationships, Eating Disorders, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Force-Feeding, Hurt/Comfort, Hux Backstory, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kylo Ren Has Issues, M/M, Medical Trauma, Mental Health Issues, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Past Child Abuse, Past Torture, Size Difference, Sloppy Makeouts, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unreliable Narrator, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Verbal Humiliation, Vomiting, Weight Issues, binge eating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-15 16:13:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9243572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klismaphilia/pseuds/skydork
Summary: “You’re so… different than I would’ve imagined.” Kylo began, uncertain. Hux stilled, and for a moment Kylo regretted not holding his tongue properly. “I just… you’re.”“Spit it out,” Hux encouraged, disparaging.“Small.”Or: After seeing that they enjoy size difference when they're in bed together, Hux secretly changes his diet to make the difference greater.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thethirstorder (KaiserPhoenix)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaiserPhoenix/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Controlling Disorder](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8019343) by [thethirstorder (KaiserPhoenix)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaiserPhoenix/pseuds/thethirstorder). 



> The title is based off of three of the "defense mechanisms" listed in psychology as common methods of blame shifting. Just some food for thought.
> 
> This story remains very close to the original prompt (almost an exact following of it) so it may be a bit uncomfortable. I urge you to not read if you find this concept at all triggering. I have tried to tag this as meticulously as possible.
> 
> With that being said, I'd like to gift this to **thethirstorder** because I did draw a bit of inspiration from their incredible story [Controlling Disorder.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8019343) Please read it if you get a chance!
> 
> Link to original KHK prompt [here.](http://kyluxhardkinks.tumblr.com/post/154782730490/after-seeing-that-they-enjoy-size-difference-when)

**Repression, Displacement... Undoing**

**...**

 

He was sitting at the window when they finally called for him, arms folded over his chest and legs half-curled underneath him, a picture of unworthiness and _frailty,_ not a thing about him threatening. The boy’s bright red hair was messy, a disheveled heap of ginger locks, for once not slicked back with gel, and his lily-white wrists throbbed with the bandages layered atop them. The texture of tape wrapped thrice-over on his too-sensitive skin had never been one of his favorite feelings in the first place, but under circumstances such as this it seemed an unnecessary brutality.

“The Commandant wishes to see you,” one of the _special_ boys, the Commandant’s Cadets, told Armitage, with his chin raised, as though it were somehow elevating him above even his betters.

“If my _father_ wants to hear from me, he can tell me himself, can he not? He has legs.”

“Watch your mouth _\--”_

“It is physically impossible to watch one’s mouth. Haven’t you taken an anatomy lesson?”

There was no response, and Armitage merely smiled, something predatory and dark, as he drew a thumb along the plush texture of his lower lip, split open and oozing the smallest amounts of blood.

“No? Pity. No wonder you haven’t had any luck with Relia, then.”

Armitage half expected to be dragged upward from his sitting-crouch, beaten into submission again for his insolence. It was the place that Brendol had decided was best for him, prostrated before another’s feet. He teased his tongue along that busted lip, teeth worrying the chapped texture of dead skin while his eyes danced with firelight, watching the cadet for any signs of retaliation.

Instead, he was met with the unfazed, _disgusted_ eyes of the Commandant himself, looking Armitage over as though he were nothing more than an irritant fly flitting before his face, taunting him.

“It would be wise to hold your tongue, boy,” Brendol said. “But I’ve come to realize asking _anything_ of you is too much. You seem to have some sort of delusion-- thinking yourself something worthy of greatness?”

 _I often wonder where I picked up that particular habit_ , the boy itched to say, but he bit his lip harder, roughly tearing at it until blood had spilled free once more, begun to soak over his chin with a red as striking as that of the Order’s emblem.

Hands roughly grabbed his shoulders, jerking him forward until the teenager was half-hunched over on the ground. Armitage’s head was bowed forward, a hand fisting in his red hair, tugging at it enough that his eyes were able to meet that of his infuriated father.

“You will stop by my office before you return to your quarters, in light of your inability to mind something as simple as your own voice. Too much like your mother. I don’t know why it surprises me anymore.”

Brendol dropped his hold on Armitage’s head, and the younger Hux curled in on himself, as though by making himself smaller he could somehow rid himself of the self-hatred now plaguing him. Bile swelled in Armitage’s throat, his eyes stinging with the promise of tears that he quickly forced away by turning his head and readjusting the collar of his shirt.

“Yes, sir.”

All too soon, the crystalline rivulets began to spill out, a true testament to just how unworthy he was. Armitage knew what _stop by my office_ meant, knew that his weakness was something to be displayed, criticized, _ended_ by whatever means possible.

He only wished that Brendol’s _methods_ didn’t involve sticking him up with drugs and a feeding tube until he retched.

* * *

 

It was no secret that even his peers seemed to doubt Hux’s ability to hold his own in a fight. His frame had always been so waifish and _slim_ that many were convinced even the simplest gust of wind would blow him over. In fact, that opinion had been agreed upon wholeheartedly by his own father, reinforced through the constant jabs at how _skinny_ he was.

_Armitage, straighten up. Even if you don’t have a spine, you shouldn’t show it._

_Armitage, are you a cadet or a slug?_

_You look like you’re about to keel over,_ boy _. What a mistake it was, letting that woman dump you on me. I assumed there was some use for you, but I’m beginning to doubt it._

It had never been a good thing, his slightness, the inverted curve of his ribcage and flat stomach. And not only had he never been made for fighting, for holding _rank,_ but it appeared he wasn’t even fit to be in a relationship. The number of remarks from previous partners (of which there were few, and far between) had all been scathing, mocking , annoyed by Hux’s supposed fragility and inability to hold up even in bed.

_Fatten up, you skeleton._

_You’re too bony to screw, Hux, hasn’t anyone told you that?_

And so, as he’d always anticipated, Armitage began to recognize his body for the… repulsion that it was. A flaw, just like the rest of him, his pallid skin that glowed nearly translucent at the presence of any light, stick-like limbs that he could nearly circle with a hand. Why was it a surprise, really, that he was to be underestimated, with all his deficiencies?

He never saw the point in trying to prove them wrong. No, he was already to the point of wasting away, and there was hardly a reason for him to protest it. He hadn’t even _meant_ to upset anyone when he quit eating, started skipping meals with a distaste that eventually soured even his facial expression, began to isolate other cadets with sneers and a glare that spoke of absolute loathing _._

 _Priss,_ some had called him.

 _Callous, icy, haughty,_ the other cadets would whisper in the halls whenever his name seemed to come up, scoffing as though they were amused. _Of course_ they were, as they always had been, the Commandant’s _bastard_ with his low scores in physicals, barely capable of holding his own in a fight. They had no reason to be fearful of retaliation, because it was _Armitage,_ pretty, petite Armitage, _thin as a slip of paper._

Until, of course, any gossips soon found their grades slipping, their influence amongst peers deteriorating with considerate whispers of what awful things they’d done. _Liars, cheaters-- I hear he raped a girl-- hear he lets his bunkmate beat him for a thrill._

_Childish--  bent over for her teachers-- should be expelled, I heard about what happened in the library the other day, all that blood--_

No preceding warning, no indication as to what had started the prattle in the first place; just a nosy cadet facing an unexpected blow to their reputation. And Armitage walked away scot-free, just as he’d anticipated-- because being _cunning_ has its advantages. Life was a battle of wits, first and foremost. Throwing punches back and forth was worthless without some sort of foresight as to the impending denouement of the conflict.

But still, the acknowledgement of his success never came. Not from his professors, not from _Brendol,_ that laser-brained tool who couldn’t even admit that Armitage was of his blood. The better part of the time, he was glossed over in training; the worse, he was singled out, his father’s hand smacking across his face and drawing it bloody, leaving without sparing him a second glance.

 _Not_ my _son,_ he’d say. _Armitage hasn’t the strength to earn that name. Not now, and perhaps not ever. If he truly wishes to be of use to me, he would’ve offed himself and saved the others the trouble._

Offed-himself. It _bemused_ the boy, who soon learned not to shake either, not to avert his eyes, not to draw the corners of his mouths up or let his face twitch back into a frown. He’d spent nights, rolled onto one side in a narrow bunk, legs tucked under a scratchy, worn blanket as he thumbed through the pages of a well-used book. The spine had already splintered, pages undone at the stitching; it was less desired than a holopad, but there was something _lovely_ about looking at black lines drawn over dead _slips of paper._

Perhaps, Armitage considered, it was because they reminded him so much of himself.

* * *

 

Hux didn’t think this was so far off from torture, the treatment his father would constantly subject him to at the promise of making him _useful._

There was nothing worse than the feeling of tubes being stuffed down his throat, than incessant needles stinging his sides until his body felt raw, used up _._ Being rigid and unconscious, but still _knowing_ what was going on, knowing what was being done to his… his _unfortunate_ body. There wasn’t anyone else who could understand, of course, because they hadn’t gone through anything like he had. Others were allowed to believe they had purpose, to believe they had an advantage. _Strength_ was something that had forsaken Armitage for too long.

It was such a gift to them, wasn’t it? It was _better,_ certainly, for them not to feel, not to be sick every day, finding themselves hiding in their bunk and hoarding books while acid stung the inside of their mouths, bubbled up through his nose and made him want to _hurl._

Armitage couldn’t fathom why his mind seemed to have done a complete shift since earlier that morning; he almost wanted food, now, but as soon as he’d consider it, those words would bombard him once more. Harassing, telling him he was _frail, fragile, skinny, skeletal, weak, weak, weak._ They didn’t understand that he _couldn’t_ be a failure, like the rest of them, couldn’t be _deficient_ if he wanted to be worth anything.

And yet right now, all he could feel was something undisguised, something… _overt,_ clinging, like _fat_ around his ribcage. Excessive skin hanging from his too-thick arms, the flabby meat of his thighs…everything, everywhere, all of it was _disgusting, repulsive, fat, needs to disappear, I’ve ruined myself!_

Armitage Hux had been told he’d be more useful if he offed himself, would be more useful if he _perished,_ rather than stuck around to burden Brendol any longer. If someone would give him a knife, give him a knife to _fix_ everything, a knife, _to cut the molting flesh off from the rest of his body--_

_No. No, I’m not, I’m-- thin, fat. Toothintoofat awful horrible worthless WORTHLESS--_

It was worse, to have the truth forced upon him. It was _worse,_ to be overlaid with this… this _image_ of himself, his father, his… his _mother._

The mother he’d hardly dared to think about since Brendol had taken him away from her, left her to rot in whatever remained of the shattered Empire. The mother who Maratelle would call a _whore,_ who nobody dared refer to by name, the one who had loved him unconditionally, in spite of his uselessness…

For once, Armitage wished she hadn’t left. He wished that she hadn’t _abandoned_ him to this constant cycle of pushing himself, shutting down, powering off completely only to be jolted awake again with a slap. It was no more fruitful an existence than a droid would have, and Armitage was nothing more than another raindrop in the puddles of Arkanis, discarded and forgotten, _urged_ to die yet unable to even waste away properly…

He dismissed the thoughts; he meant absolutely nothing to any of them, not his mother, not the Commandant, not the cadets or the instructors or the scrap-heap that had once been MM-94. He was **nothing.**

And so, going forward, _General_ Hux never forgave.

And he never forgot.

 

* * *

 

 

He was laid-up in Kylo Ren’s bed once he woke, bleary-eyed and half-sore from the toll of his psychosomatic illness. The stress of losing Starkiller wore on Hux, a titular burden for him to bear. It was a strain that seemed to press against his very core, corrupting him with the _weakness_ he’d once harbored as a child. His own fragility… his own _instability._

“Useless.” The General mumbled, his lips twisting around the word. One hand clutched tighter to the arm thrown about his waist, and Hux’s eyelids fluttered shut once more at the sour taste left in his mouth. _Contact._ How unbelievably childish it was, for him to crave such a thing when he should be dead.

Armitage had wanted death. He’d _longed_ for it, grieved for his own loss of life with the collapse of the sole, brilliant idea that had sprouted from his ignorant mind.

“Hux?” The low echo of Kylo Ren’s voice carried, lips brushing along his ear, tongue trailing over the slight crook of his neck, mouthing at the skin until Hux could’ve sworn a mark was beginning to appear on the surface.

“Not now, Ren.” Hux answered, disdainful, focusing on the soft inhale-exhale of his hitched breath, the warmth of another body alongside his own. Kylo wasn’t flinching away, wasn’t _berating_ him for his lacking capacity, his unfit figure.

Ren’s arms curled around the slight frame beside him, grasping Hux by the hips and pulling the General flush to himself. Hux’s unsteady breathing was accompanied by a shallow wheeze, as though he couldn’t muster enough air to fill his lungs. His hands seemed clammy, trembling when the Knight seized hold of them and peppered kisses to the back of his knuckles as he might an Emperor.

“You’re so… different than I would’ve imagined.” Kylo began, uncertain. Hux stilled, and for a moment Kylo regretted not holding his tongue properly. “I just… you’re.”

“Spit it out,” Hux encouraged, disparaging.

“ _S_ _mall.”_

Hux stiffened, and imagined he might’ve moved away altogether were it not for the fingers tracing languid circles over his spine, the soft grip of Ren’s normally brutal hands. _A warrior’s hands,_ Brendol reminded him, _much larger than yours, more capable._

“If you mean to laugh at me--”

“No. No, I was. Unusually enamored,” Ren continued, pinching at the jutting bone of the General’s hip as he laid another feathery kiss to a pale shoulderblade. “You’re stunning, General. I wish you didn’t feel the need to hide inside that coat of yours all the time. If I knew that you were so _frail..._ ”

The words were spoken with such… _reverence._ It wasn’t a tone that Hux was used to hearing, too used to the commanding bark of orders or a whimpered _yessir_ from his subordinates. To think that Ren of all people was admiring him was both terrible and satisfying.

“You don’t mean that.”

“You’ll find that I am a very blunt man, Hux.” The General’s back arched, unused to the position as Ren rolled atop him. The Knight’s breath blew heavy across Hux’s purple-marked neck as he parted slight thighs with his knee. Hux tilted his head, attempting to fix Ren with a haughty expression, glowering.

“You act like my… _appearance_ is something good, Ren. That’s as absurd a thought as it is a remark.” His own hand paused in a motion over Kylo’s abdomen, teasing the edges of taut muscle. The man was _warm,_ a flickering inferno of heat, blanketing him with the body of a _fighter._ Both strong and ruthless.

Hux felt _safe,_ like this. Small, but _protected_.

(His gut throbbed, flashes of bulging needles stuffed into bruised flesh mirrored over the inside of Hux’s eyes. How _dare_ he? How _dare_ Ren think that this body was _beautiful?)_

(Hux liked it. More than he should ever admit, even to himself.)

“Kylo,” he murmured, licking his lips uncertainly. “Kylo, _please.”_

It didn’t matter that Hux wasn’t even certain what he was begging for.

It didn’t matter, because Kylo pressed him back into the sheets anyway, nipping at his mouth and coaxing it open, a large hand encompassing Hux’s length with a firm grip, their cocks sliding together in friction too real to be a dream. Kylo’s hand enveloped Hux’s, linking their grip to one another as he panted against the General’s slight shoulder, face buried in his neck while he gasped, groaned.

 _“Hux,”_ Kylo started.

“Armitage,” Hux corrected, automatically. “I… my given name.”

 _“Armitage,”_ Kylo agreed, jovial. “Armitage, Armitage…” He slotted their hips together, clinging tight to Hux’s waist as the red-haired man’s hand climbed to his back, urging him to do _more_ with the scratches shorn through tanned skin.

Hux said nothing; he didn’t need words, when he was so _desired,_ protected at long last.  His foot catches against Kylo’s leg, the air leaving his lungs as white flashes along the inside of his eyelids, a promise of release staved off for a time uncounted.

His body tingled, this time with a pleasure that Armitage had never before known.

* * *

 

Gazing blankly at the reflection placed before him in the mirror, Hux could hardly muster the strength to ready himself. His face was marred, dark circles shading the edges of sunken green orbs, a hint of _stubble_ sprouted along his jaw. Unthinking, Hux allowed a hand to press against the inverted curve of his stomach, slide to the juncture where hip met thigh, the spread of his legs betraying angles he’d never spent time to consider. Idly trailing fingers through a thatch of red hair trailing just below his navel, the General appraised himself.

_Slight._

_Fragile._

_Thin._

_A wisp of a creature._

His flesh was mottled with bruises now, a mirror image of his youth. Yet these felt more a trophy than a mark of shame, something Hux wanted to _touch,_ caress until he’d committed each to memory. His ribs jutted as he leaned forward, spine bending with the abrupt movement, gasping at the sensation of cool metal on his soft chest.

He was pretty. All this time, and Hux had tried to ignore the thought. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that he might be _pretty,_ that disgustingly taboo word, when he had seemed more a wraith than a human. To think that Ren’s hands could stretch around his waist in the manner they had that morning, to think that he could _envelop_ Hux entirely…

 _Small._ A dismissive word that had haunted Hux too long suddenly seemed to be something he couldn’t hear _enough_ of. When Ren had called him slight, driving his hips forward into Hux’s battered body, it had reverberated through his very soul like a long-lost fantasy.

Would Ren like him _skinnier?_

Hux pinched at his belly once, then twice, certain that the skin between them was enough he could roll it between his fingers. _Ugly._ That little hint of… of _imperfection._ Not even muscle. Brendol would have hated it. Ren would… Ren wouldn’t like it either, Hux was _certain. _

“New eating regimen,” Armitage whispered, tracing patterns along his rosebud chest, flushed with arousal. “I… I need to lose at least the stomach. And… thighs. Thighs are a bit flabby. Perhaps… no. Ren wouldn’t like muscle. _I_ wouldn’t like muscle. Toning, perhaps.”

He shut his mouth, teeth clicking together in frustration.

"Leaving for beta shift. Appearance comes later.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Driven by his desire for _perfection,_ Hux begins to diminish in not only stature, but also control; and Ren is just as close to becoming unhinged as he is, in the end.

It started by cutting out dinner from his regular schedule.

The last meal of the day was by far the least important; Hux had been through enough medbay rotations and health lectures to accept that as a fact. Moreso, depending on the divide between meal times and the extensive period between each meal, the intake of nutrients versus empty calories left much to be desired. Hux didn’t want food that lingered in his stomach for hours on end; the mere concept was enough to make his gut turn.

Mentally, he placed an emphasis on his morning rations, though the atmosphere of the Finalizer during the early hours was often more trying than Hux would have liked. As such, there was a very _thin_ window of time in which he could waste minutes on choking down some bread or an energy bar. Caf and water seemed to suffice; Hux had learned in the Academy, through trial and error, that drinking water for about three minutes would allow him the simulated feeling of fullness. If it led to a number of undesired bathroom breaks… well, there were some sacrifices that needed to be made in lieu of perfection.

The greatcoat was worn more often than not, in spite of all things. Hux’s body had hardly acclimated to the recent _chill_ of the Finalizer, but to say anything about it would be acknowledging that it was _bothering him_ , and nothing was supposed to bother him to the point where he felt a need to _complain._ Complaint was a tool regularly used by errant cadets, those who were _lazy_ or needed constant coddling. And, of course, Ren-- though Hux had made an effort not to poke at the matter in the case of Ren’s less… civilized manners intensifying.

Besides, he needed the protective circle of Ren’s arms, his gentle _praise,_ craved it like it was some sort of drug he’d been too-long denied. A substitute, perhaps, for whatever he’d turned to as a child; deathsticks, of course, had been in demand amongst his peers, and Hux couldn’t claim to have _disliked_ the effects of using. They had provided a mellow, _serene_ feeling that accompanied him throughout each day, no vivid memories behind his eyelids, pain slowing to something more like a soft _tingle_ along his flesh.

He’d thought about starting again, briefly; deathsticks did have a tendency to stave off weight gain.

Then, Hux considered, _Ren would hate it._ Caf would clearly be a better choice in the long run. Best for him to keep track of everything going into his body so as not to prolong any unfortunate effects.

 

* * *

 

 

On occasion, Hux would have meals with Phasma in the officers’ hall. Most of the time was spent listening to the Stormtrooper Captain rattle off the idle gossip she’d heard among her troops or talk about new training simulations. Phasma was, much to the surprise of many, a rather boisterous woman who had no trouble making a joke at someone’s expense. She might’ve fared well as a smuggler in another lifetime.

Today, however, she seemed more at a loss for words, watching the General push around the equivalent portions of starch, protein and vegetables on his plate, his eyes focused on the wall behind her head, nearly trancelike. The greatcoat sat awkwardly on his rigid shoulders, though not in the manner it once had. Now it only served to make him more resemble a child, playing at dressing up in his father’s clothing. The fabric appeared to envelop his slightness completely, and Hux’s unfocused fumbling only contributed to the idea that he wasn’t fully lucid.

“Uh, Hux… you alright? You look kind of… pale.” Phasma almost facepalmed mentally at the first word that popped into her mind. The General waved a hand dismissively, scowling.

“Phasma, I’ve not been anywhere but the inside of a star destroyer for over five years. I’m not sure how you expect me to _tan.”_

“There’s probably a protocol for it somewhere,” Phasma edged, though dropped the idea, taking on a blunt tone as she continued. “That’s not the point, though. It’s obvious… well. Have you been taking on extra rotations again?”

“A General is expected to perform,” Hux said, cryptically, dropping his eating utensils completely. The barely-touched food on his plate had half been smeared into a mess when he stood, brushing off the front of his immaculately-kept uniform. Tugging the greatcoat further around his shoulders, his brow furrowed, as though momentarily forgetting something, before he spun away on one heel to walk out of the room.

He was not _distracted._

 

* * *

 

 

He was meant to see Ren again that night.

Armitage quickly undid the buttons of his uniform, tugging it off and folding it with primly-pressed corners on the counter of his ‘fresher. His fingers idly toyed with the hem of the undershirt, a flimsy white material that had never particularly impressed him, a hint of insecurity nagging at the back of his mind, pressing him to look up.

And he does; the glassy surface of the mirror is enough to allow the General a once-over on his own features… his misfortunes. That’s certainly what they appeared to be now; if it weren’t for the dark circles under his eyes, calling to mind nicknames and taunts from youth, the area below his chest would certainly…

_Wraith. Sickly. Frail._

_A waif._

_\-- bones are more harmful than the rest of him._

_\--- just an excess of skin and bones._

_\---- bruise too easily, too pfassking thin, it’s a wonder you’re still standing._

_\----- gained weight? It’s unbecoming of you. You should stop eating so much. Soft, inside and out, you weak-willed bastard. Better you stay out of sight on visitation. I don’t want any of your misconducts reflecting on me--_

_Whore._

**_Whore._ **

_\-- how easy would it be to get him to bend over?_

_Bet he’s done it before. Probably slept his way into becoming an officer._

_Only reason anyone even likes him is because he’s skinny--_

Hux’s nails sank into pallid flesh, pressing deep half-circles into scarred-over forearms, almost sinking into the memory. Words, words that tore into flesh, into _his body,_ made him half-ready to keel over with the _emphatic_ reminder of his weakness. He felt… he felt worthless _,_ actually _felt_ it, deep in his chest, clawing at the inside of his sternum with a desire to burst free.

 _\-- failure useless failure failure unwanted thin weak weakling bastard slut pfassking punk delusional_ **_unworthy--_ **

Blood sprung to the surface at the edge of the scored lines, dribbling down from his torn-up elbow, the _plit_ of droplets spilling against the metal counter too loud a pretense. It was _everywhere,_ echoing in his ears until everything else had ebbed away, similar to the storms outside his barred-over window on Arkanis, where he’d wept, staring out at an endless expanse of grey sky...

_Plit, plit._

Armitage let go of his arm, his red knuckles taking a moment to relax, slim digits drifting back to his waistband, gently tracing the slim stomach beneath. The curve from before was more prominent, bulging out from along the edge of his belt, blistered with the disgusting texture of purple-and-red stretch marks; Hux couldn’t avert his eyes from it, just peeking up at him from in the mirror, the disgusting _mass_ of flesh that was his stomach, and he’d tried _so hard…_

A knock came from the direction of the hallway. The echo betrayed a rapid-pounding, the annoyance of each hit an overt sign of Kylo Ren’s ever-present frustration. He was impatient, really-- perhaps more than even Hux was, though it said something that the Knight had finally gained the decency to knock instead of simply barging in uninvited.

Trying to quell the unsettled ache of his abdomen, the slight fuzziness to his seemingly diminished vision, Armitage quickly rubbed his eyes, blinking away any tiredness that lingered there. With only a second of pause, he gave a short, snappish, “Come in!”

The door opened.

Hux had barely rounded the corner of the fresher before he was stilled, green orbs wide and flickering as they trailed over Ren’s apparent state of disarray. The Knight was an unfortunate mess of his hair, body odor that clung to his sweat-slicked skin, bruises lining his ungloved hands.

“Well. You’ve certainly seen better days,” he finally sneered, lips twitching downward with distaste. Not that it seemed to have mattered in the least, because Ren’s arms were encircling his waist and his lips were rough against Hux’s own, tongue delving into his mouth, teeth nipping at him with intent to consume.

Against his better judgment, Hux finally relinquished, arms haphazardly thrown around Kylo’s neck, fingers gently stroking the nape, where raven locks met pale skin. Threading a hand into those dark curls, he experimentally massaged Kylo’s scalp, gaze lingering on the Knight’s surprisingly _affectionate_ expression with a smirk.

“You missed me.” Kylo said, his grip tight over the small of Armitage’s back, pressing the General’s slight figure flush against his own body, gently thumbing the curve of his spine. The red-haired man found his skin tingling, a base urge with the intent to _cling,_ to _reciprocate,_ creeping up on him the longer he stared at Kylo’s bemused visage.

“As if,” Armitage huffed, though his voice smattered of adoration. “Don’t mistake this for a _relationship,_ Ren.”

“Amusing as ever, General.”

Hux allowed Ren to maneuver his hands at the front of his long robes, watching with reverence as the older’s hands began the meticulous task of divesting the Knight from his clothing. His thumb smoothed over the corner of Armitage’s mouth, and Hux accepted the digit between his lips almost thoughtlessly, eyes glinting with a tiny nip of teeth.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Ren. You reek. I’m not fucking you unless you take a shower.”

“You could always join me.” Kylo remarked, offhand, tracing a path over the man’s slender jaw and high cheekbones, ruffling his hair as he rested an arm against Hux’s chest. “Or you could get on the bed and prepare yourself.”

Armitage’s mouth ran dry.

“I expect you to be prompt.”

 

* * *

 

 

Kylo was atop him, blanketing Armitage’s slightness with his expanse of muscles, rough-edged form more beastly than human, his only intention primal lust. Capacious hands teased over the lines of Hux’s ribcage, down the trail of ginger hairs lining a stripe from his navel to his half-hard cock. Hux’s thighs ( _tiny, always tiny, the part between them still something Kylo hadn’t yet grown used to)_ hugged his back, heel digging into the muscle of his own back, spurning on any attentions gifted.

 _“You’re a menace,”_ Kylo accused, biting at the juncture of Armitage’s pale neck, the General’s head tilting to the side with a sharp _keen,_ a whine at how easily he was manhandled. He was a mess like this, imperfect, gasping and whining aimlessly as Ren encircled his hands, pinned them over his head in one fluid motion.

“I would say the same of you,” Hux hissed, “but for some reason I almost find it endearing.” Kylo’s hands slid to his sides, so hasty that he was practically acting inexperienced.

It was only when his grip appeared to encircle Armitage completely that his brow furrowed, uncertain. “Did you… lose weight?”

" _Me?”_ Armitage asked, as though he’d heard something particularly absurd. “Of course not. If anything, I’ve probably put on some.”

“No, you’re--” Kylo bit his lip. “You’re so _tiny.”_

It was true; the concave edge of his midsection, the protrusion of hipbones, his slender arms and a chest that heaved with each intake of air. The _up-down_ motion of Hux’s breathing was unsettling, somehow. His ribs stuck out rather prominently, emphasizing lankiness that was subsumed by the bulk of his uniform, Armitage’s constant shifting only exaggerating the underweight features.

“Is that a… a _bad_ thing?” Armitage’s voice had dropped lower, pitching awkwardly, a twitch of emotion that appeared reminiscent of anxiety twisting his expression. It wasn’t a look commonly seen on the General-- in fact, Kylo wasn’t certain he’d _ever_ been greeted with a Hux that was so… worried.

He smiles. “No. Never. It’s… I like it. You’re _so_ tiny.” Kylo nuzzled his face against his lover’s stomach, kissing along his sides, fingers searching out the heat of Hux’s lower body. The man parted his legs without being asked, hips tilting up to expose the slickness of his stretched rim, flushing. Calloused fingertips pressed along the tight furl of Armitage’s body, content to slide along the crease of his ass while the skinny redhead squirmed, eager for more friction.

“Ren, if you don’t _hurry up…”_

“Whatever you say, magnanimous-General-mine,” a finger breached his entrance, reveling in the _warmth_ of Hux’s body, the way he opened up to accommodate Kylo without any fuss. A pleased sigh crossed the distance between them when Ren slid in another finger, crooking them to slide with firm prods against his prostate, massaging the spot as Hux _trembled,_ a staccato of moans pressing past his lips.

“Ah-- Ren, I--”

“It’s a wonder I can even fit in here,” Kylo continued. “Your hole is just as small as the rest of you, but I suppose it’s _eager._ So greedy, just swallowing my fingers up like this.”

 _“Pfaask, Kylo.”_ Hux gripped his hair, roughly yanking the strands, his hips bucking fervently at each lingering caress.

Ren paused for a moment, taking in the expansion of Hux’s chest, the overt _obtrusion_ of his ribs  as they jutted out with each bend.

“I-- I think it’s better if you get on top of me,” he said, finally, uncertain.

Hux shrugged, allowing Ren to pull him sideways, half falling on top of the Knight in a manner most undignified. “Ren! Warn me next time, you daft--”

His hips were gripped tightly by roaming fingers, knuckles drawing over his posterior. Armitage smirked, grinding his body against Ren’s, sliding his open hole along a thick, practically rigid cock. It was practically a taunt, meant to rile the Knight up with his desperation.

“Force, you’re _pretty,”_ Kylo bit out, a muted whine when Armitage sat there, straddling his stomach, arms crossed.

“So are you, stretched out underneath me like this. You’re actually bearable when you’re desperate for a good, long _ride.”_

_“Armitage, please.”_

“What do you want, Ren? Be a big boy and say it.”

_“I want to fuck you.”_

Armitage acquiesced, lining himself up with the head of the monstrosity that was Ren’s dick. “Well, because you begged so nicely…”

Lowering himself down onto Ren gave way to a stretch that made Hux _ache_ impractically every time. He felt so _desired,_ those fingers cutting bruises into his hips, his hole open and wanting and _parting_ to take Kylo in as much as possible. The fullness was always indescribable, like a remnant of Hux that had been too-long denied, sought after and yet never found. It made him feel _whole,_ being filled up like this and claimed, a bigger person in all the ways that counted. This beautiful, _broad_ man would do anything for him-- those well-muscled arms would be as eager to embrace him as they would be to slaughter an army in his honor.

“So _big,”_ Armitage hissed. “So _big,_ Ren, and strong, and all _mine,_ all mine. Love when you fuck me-- makes me feel _complete,_ you brute.”

Straining his back in an arch off the mattress, Ren helped pull Armitage up with nails clutching his waist, before watching the General lower himself again. This time claiming, Hux wasn’t careful in claiming Ren to the hilt, a pace soon being set as Hux pulled away and dropped down again, each thrust drawing Kylo in deep. Hux’s muscles clenched tight, his mouth having fallen open with a lustful moan.

“ _Kylo!”_ He exclaimed at the perfect hit to his prostate, legs falling weak at the knees and head spinning with arousal. His hips canted, hole pulsing at the intrusion of Ren’s cock, clenched tight around the organ as though refusing to let go. Armitage had imagined this for too long, in his youth; the joining of his body with another. In his mind, his partners had always been bigger, stronger, _firm…_ as though Kylo were something cut straight out of a fantasy that the teenaged Hux had wasted too much thought on.

Hux slotted their forms together, further, crooning with his neck turned to the side and lips parted with a salacious moan. Hands splayed across Kylo’s toned chest, he thumbed over rosebud-nipples, grinning as Kylo whined, jerked unsteadily again.

A hand took hold of his cock, palming Armitage until he went almost slack, pitching forward over the Knight and surging back onto Kylo with quick snaps of his hips. He felt as though he were split-open, fully bared to whatever the Knight desired of him. Kylo’s length had impaled Armitage, balls deep, soldiers-hands encircling his cock completely on each down-thrust. Hux’s back strained at the position, aching as he was continually pounded, roughed-up in a steady rhythm of push and pull. Each thrust teased his sweet-spot, urging the General forward to his inevitable collapse at this uncanny pleasure. It was as though he were rutting toward his orgasm in pleading whines and lascivious moans, angling himself wider each time, subsumed in _Ren, everywhere, my Ren._

“So good, Armitage, so _pretty._ Come for me, sweetheart-- _please,_ please, come for me.”

And he did, spilling over those long, lovely fingers, Ren’s own eyes sliding shut as he gave another short thrust upward into Armitage’s still-twitching body. The feeling of cum, hot against his inner walls and painting his most secret place, was an indulgence Hux usually avoided; Ren was the only exception.

Slumping over on top of the stoic-faced Knight, Armitage tucked his face into Ren’s shoulder. It was a motion of shyness, surely unbefitting of his normal composure; he didn’t know why the vulnerability seemed to come almost naturally, now, in these moments.

“You lost weight,” Ren mused again, though this time it was a statement, rather than a question. He pinched at Armitage’s side, considerate, kissing the other’s tired brow with a small frown. “Armitage. Please. Talk to me.”

“I’ve been overworked,” Hux murmured, nonchalant. “Stressed. You know what that’s like, Kylo.”

“Surely you could take a couple cycles--”

“Unlike you, I have a ship to run, Ren. The procession of my command is a necessity, not a formality.” The cultured snap of Hux’s voice bit, and his expression paled when Ren seemed to flinch away. “Wait-- I. It’s not my intention to… upset you.”

“I know.”

“Nobody ever told me I was… I was _attractive_ before, alright? I was always… _too_ skinny, brittle, fragile. _Weak._ I thought… I thought you’d like it. It feels… it feels _good,_ to be smaller than you.” Hux eased himself away from Ren, slipping onto his side and looking over to the wall, teeth gritted. “You make me feel _safe._ And… _wanted._ And _tiny._ And I liked being tiny, for you. I like being-- being _yours.”_

“Hux,” Kylo braced a hand over the General’s back. “I’ve always found you attractive.”

“No, Ren, you _haven’t._ You _haven’t,_ because I’m soft, and weak, and _useless,_ pfaasking _useless._ You _said it!_ ‘General Useless’, ‘incapable twink’-- you really think I haven’t _heard_ what people mutter? I have _ears.”_

“ _Armitage!”_ Kylo snapped, gripping Hux’s chin and forcefully jerking his head to the side, his glare boring holes into the General’s own terrified eyes. “I’m not _him.”_

Hux bit his lip.

“I’m _not._ I mean-- I meant it. You are… you’re _perfect,_ immaculate. I didn’t. I never thought you were weak. You _snap_ at me, you bite and you hiss and you _hate,_ and-- and I thought _that_ you was perfect. I don’t care how you look.”

Kylo swallowed. “I used to be… on the awkward side, regardless. I know I’m unconventionally large, Hux. Height wise, muscles-- but. I could be… I could be _more,_ if you wanted. If you stopped, because you’re already so, _so_ thin, and small, and I want to be bigger. I _like_ being bigger. Than you, at least.” His arms curled around Armitage’s waist, lifting him further into his arms and sliding one hand under the still-slick back of the General’s thighs. “Come here, Hux.”

“ _F_ _ine,”_ he said to Ren, rolling his eyes. “Fine, but only because you were _unnaturally sweet,_ you blasterbrain.”

“I liked you better when you were moaning.”

“Of course.” Armitage paused, then, thoughtful. “What you said. Did you mean…”

“That I’d get bigger for you?” Ren asked, and Armitage nodded, expressionless. “Yes. If you want. Only you.” He gives a reassuring squeeze to the ginger’s thigh; Hux jerks almost reflexively. There’s a long moment of pause before he manages to speak.

“I want everything that you can give, Ren. I want you to be _mine.”_

Kylo grins. “And I am. I’m _your_ protector.”

 

* * *

 

 

Armitage felt weak.

His body found itself aching with each step he took, every move he made-- turning, standing, sitting up. It set off a typical ache in his stomach, a pain that angled down his hips and up into his abdomen, easily reconciled with his youth. There was a moment that allowed him to linger against the doorframe, his breath burning with an acrid tang as he raised his eyes to the door. The alarm had finally quit pinging, at his command, and Ren’s form lay sprawled out in the bed behind him, massive.

“Lights, twenty percent.”

The glare from dark-white bulbs were poisonous to his eyes, burning him with a bright sting of power.  Armitage managed to keep himself standing upright as he edged his way to the fresher, one foot before the other, creeping across the floor as silently as he could muster. His throat burned when he pulled himself over with his hands to the metal door, managing to pull it half-shut behind him as he bent over the sink, hands braced on either side of the rim.

His gaze flickered to the mirror once, and only once.

_Worthless pfaasking slut._

And Hux retched. He retched, but didn’t vomit the first time, only felt more faint. He was eternally disgusted at the thought of the tubes plugging his throat and the inside of his veins, disgusted at the thought that his stomach was so _empty,_ disgusted at the fact that everyone lied to him. He was-- _hideous,_ ridiculously _over-under-weight,_ couldn’t think, couldn’t…

And then came the swift realization. Hux lurched forward, body seizing up as he dropped to his knees on the floor, an age-old routine. His forehead pressed toward the faux-tile of the floor, sobbing as he spilled his guts out against the ground beneath him. No chunks, no solid food, just the burning, _acidic_ liquid of _failure_ spilling out. Spewing.

Bile dripped slowly from the corners of his mouth, the vomit splashing where it hit the tile to stain his loose black shirt. Hux felt another wave of nausea and then he was bursting at the seams, acid soaking ever part of him through and through, leaving no room for _rationality,_ no room for… for _desire_.

How had Ren ever thought him _beautiful?_ A useless _creature_ who could hold neither his tongue nor his stomach, laid out across the floor with a hand over his stomach and _crying._

Crying, of all things. The weakest action any being could procure, the very thing Brendol had sought to _end,_ Armitage’s petty _sorrow._ Oh, but if only he _had_ ended it. He could never be perfect, could never be…

_Worthless._

Ren would see soon enough that his time was better wasted on someone else; they’d hated each other to begin with, hadn’t they? Soon, he would understand, he would…

**_He can’t leave me, he can’t, no, no, mine, MINE, I deserve him, I deserve-- reverence._ **

And then he heard the breathing.

 

* * *

 

 

Kylo woke up to the sound of retching.

Armitage was slumped over on the floor of the fresher, half-lying on his side with his knees tucked up to his stomach. He curled in on himself as a wounded animal might, hair sticky and matted to his forehead as he bent over again, arms clutched tight about his midsection. A thin stream of bile hung from the corner of his lips, and as Armitage raised his head, Kylo could see evident stains of yellow-orange trailing down his chin.

“B-back to the land of the living, I see,” Hux said, as though he hadn’t been vomiting his guts out only moments before. A small puddle had gathered in the area beside his head, and his trembling fingers were pulling at the fabric of an oversized black shirt that had been carelessly thrown on. The fabric hung low off one shoulder, emphasizing the skeletal texture of Armitage’s collarbone.

“Hux,” Ren hissed, bending down to gather the sick General into his arms. He was torn between wanting to throttle him and wanting to tuck him into bed. A slap likely would’ve won out over both, if Armitage’s skin wasn’t already chilled to the touch and lined with a slick cold-sweat.

Kylo didn’t even have to touch his head to sense the fever.

“You’re burning up,” He continued, abruptly dragging Hux back into the bedroom as he began pressing him gently back onto the bed, movements mild to quell the protests that Armitage was sure to give.

“I have to be on the bridge--”

 _“No.”_ The Knight commanded, smoothing Hux’s hair back, the General’s body jerking, once, before going still at the ebb of the force inside his thoughts, clearing them to create an illusion of drowsiness. “Go to sleep,” Kylo murmured.

Armitage did, his reedy body lax against the sheets. The encouragement seemed unusually easy this time… enough to make Kylo half-wary of his own partaking in the actions that had led to Hux’s physical trauma.

 _“Kriff,”_ he hissed to himself, threading a hand into his own tangled hair and tugging on it. Logically, it probably would make the most sense for him to get Hux to the medbay. But that didn’t sit right with him, somehow; not only because Armitage would be an aggravated _mess_ once he woke up, but also because--

_Because they might see that he has a problem._

_They might take him away from you._

Kylo tensed at the possibility. It wasn’t as if there was much _left_ to be taken from him-- but losing Armitage… losing _his_ Armitage was likely the worst fate left to either of them.

Kylo Ren could admit that he didn’t often have an issue with being the cause of the General’s pain; no, Hux was admittedly _fun_ to frustrate, fun to annoy and deride, and in bed it was only more satisfying. Having the other man tear into his body with his claw-like nails, biting at his neck as he spat the occasional insult at him, pinned underneath the Knight while Kylo fucked him crazy--or vice-versa, even-- was _indefinitely exciting._ Armitage’s slightness had only accentuated the rather intense coupling they took part in.

But to have Hux taken away would mean becoming _Ben_ again. Lonely and unwanted-- pathetic _Ben_ , the boy who held no appeal in either his mentality or appearance, _Ben,_ who found it more easy to take someone’s life than he did to hold a pleasant conversation with someone.

He sighed, finally. Slipping a hand underneath Hux’s knobby knees, the other cradling the upper-section of his back, Kylo hefted the General from the bed. Hux’s legs were still bare, the black shirt long enough to potentially hide his cock from view, though it would still be a humiliating sight for the man.

_When had he begun to care about the General’s feelings?_

_When had he grown_ **_enamored?_ **

Pausing at the entrance between the hallway and Hux’s quarters, Kylo took a moment to settle his own thoughts.

Logic had won out in the end; it would be worse if Armitage stayed here, tucked away and _alone._

It would be worse for him to _die_ than it would be for Kylo to deal with the coming _fervor_ of Hux’s emotions.

“I’m going to _fix_ this,” Kylo promised-- _empty words,_ his mind whispered. “Armitage, I’m… I’m going to fix you. I’ll put on weight-- gain muscle. You won’t have to keep starving yourself. We-- just this. Just like _this,_ I like you like this. You’re… you’re _perfect.”_

He wasn’t sure whether he imagined Armitage’s eyelashes fluttering at those words.

 

* * *

 

 

Kylo’s control already seemed to be faltering.

The medics who had deigned to see to Hux refused to admit Kylo to his side. _It’s a delicate situation,_ they’d told him-- a _delicate situation_. As though Ren were a _nuisance,_ a hindrance to Armitage ( _his_ Armitage)’s progress. As though _they_ were more capable of understanding someone as riveting, as _dark_ as Hux.

The Knight’s hands had balled into fists, automatically; even if he was more subtle in his aggression now, the urge never left. It was always there, a single strand of thought attempting to coerce him into _striking,_ into _killing…_  

And it tore at him, scratches shorn through the inside of his body, his mangled organs, his tightly-wound muscle. The thoughts were ever-present, and yet they now ate at him, _nagging,_ spitting and cursing: _he’s in danger, you failed in your duty again, Kylo Ren, Armitage will die, he will die because you_ abandoned _him to these people…_

Something slid open with a brilliant gust of air, the tap of boots signaling the approach of a doctor, his face unable to prevent a betrayal of emotion.

“Lord Ren--”

“Where is the General?”

“Resting. His body is greatly malnourished. My advice is to have him refrain from partaking in his duties until he is fully recovered.” The medic’s face was tilted downward, avoiding meeting the force-user’s darkened eyes which burned far more expressively without the cover of his mask. Ren’s face twisted into a glower, carefully speaking again.

“Did I mince my words, Doctor? _Where_ is he?”

“The bed… the bed on the left!”

Kylo shoved past the man with little regard to his well-being. He stormed into the medbay, a broad-shouldered mess of black, throwing back the curtains lining a single cot tucked out of sight.

And there he was.

_Weak._

It was the first thought to strike Ren’s mind, an echoed voice accompanied by a curl of his lip, reminiscent to their first encounter. Armitage would be appalled at Kylo’s appraisal. The Knight knew from experience that Hux would likely smack him upside the head if he were ever called such a thing, spit an order in his face with absolute vitriol. Yet, somehow, Kylo’s mind refused to work around it; this was the only consideration he could find in lieu of Hux’s devolution.

Brittle bones, thin-skinned and white as a sheet, likely easier to lift than even the scavenger had been. _Anorexic._

Kylo turned back to the medic, lingering at the end of the bed. He projected his words clearly, not a trace of anything besides stoicism underlying his tone. “The General is coming with me. He will retain his authority as he recovers. His file is to be forwarded to my personal datapad and then removed-- _indefinitely--_ from the system.”

“Sir--”

“You will leave the General to my care.”

“I will-- leave the General to your care, Lord Ren.” The fog of confusion still clouding the man’s judgment, Ren took the opportunity to bundle Hux in the thin blanket of white still laid over the cot, securing the man in his arms. His hand lingered, for a moment, over Armitage’s forehead, carding through the ginger locks as carefully as Ren would dare, trailing his forefinger over the General’s plush lips, parting with little resistance at Kylo’s teasing.

“Oh, my dear General Hux. What a mess you’ve let me make of you.”

 _And what a mess I’d make of myself,_ Kylo thought as he bit his tongue, the bitter tang of blood weighing heavy in his throat. _To be what you so desperately want._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you or anyone you know is suffering from an eating disorder, I would advise you to talk to someone-- a counselor, a doctor, a friend. There are also other resources, such as the [AABA,](https://www.aabaphila.org/) [ProjectHeal](http://theprojectheal.org/) and the [NEDA,](http://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/resource-links) the latter of which has numerous links for resources based on geographical location.
> 
> Leave a comment if you're so inclined! Thanks to anyone who's still with me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is, after everything, _love._ Love, which can cause even the greatest of people to lose their minds, love, which will encourage a desire for perfection that can never be fully sated.

Ben Solo was an unfortunate child with unfortunate features.

He was made aware of that from an early age; big ears, a nose that stuck out too far, crooked teeth… and a slight chubbiness in his stomach that hadn’t disappeared until he’d hit fifteen. His body could possibly have been compared to an alien life form, strange at first sight with one half defined and well-constructed, the rest asymmetrical and too  _ round  _ in all the ways that were less than appreciated. Disproportionate, he thought he’d heard it called once. 

And, as he’d understood, they hadn’t been doing it to mock him, not really. (Not even when he felt so broken down, the constant bombardment of  _ disgustingdisgustingdisgusting, too heavy uglyface putabagoveryourhead lookathiships hisstomach roundtooround  _ replaying as a broken holorecord might.) No, it had been for a purpose, hadn’t it? Change yourself for the benefit of ( _ us)  _ yourself, gain strength so ( _ we won’t have to deal with you)  _ you won’t have to deal with it.

Those were truths, he’d considered, words with a purpose, meant to show him a path toward bettering himself. Ben Solo was too good-hearted, too  _ light  _ to consider agitating others with his own response; no, he was more adept at wielding a blade than he had ever been at making conversation, talking about his innermost  _ torment.  _ While certain phrases came naturally--  _ I’m in agony, being torn apart, I don’t understand--  _ the true fashion of what his parents had called “emotive expression” didn’t settle until he was much older. What Hux would call a temper tantrum was more a kind necessity of his mind lashing out, attempting to make up for a lacking stability as a youth.

Kylo Ren was, in a sense, everything that Ben Solo might have wished to be; well-muscled and broad-shouldered, yet still proportionate, his asymmetry hidden for the most part, with thick drapes of black, robes that clung to his physique well. It was in essence a homage to Darth Vader, to the stories which Ben had heard spoken by other children in the New Republic-- later, as he would learn, his grandfather.

For all intents and purposes, Kylo Ren should enjoy his physicality.

Yet he was incapable.

Incapable, it seemed, because of his nasty habits, the unfortunate urge to  _ binge,  _ to eat and eat and  _ eat  _ until his stomach was bulging, to drown his  _ self-loathing  _ in food, rather than training, as he would have hoped. The comfort was an irony that Kylo could not escape, an irony which he  _ abhorred,  _ was so unbearably disgusted with. He could not settle when restless until he’d eaten, and when he woke in the morning, it was often to a growling stomach, seeming more toned than it should have been.

Kylo took care to exercise; he took care to spend meticulously long hours in training, honing his body into the weapon it should be, so as not to reflect on his own  _ unsated hunger.  _ There was a longing that pervaded this interest, deep in his gut, nagging at the back-corner of his mind that Kylo found no means of escape from; frustrating,  _ alwaysalwaysalways there.  _ Discomfort and insecurity, prickling his skin, the  _ revulsion  _ that ran through him upon something as slight as seeing his own face in the mirror.  _ Disgusting. Hideous.  _

Hux was the opposite.

Now, watching him curl halfway in on himself, huddled beneath the covers of Kylo’s unmade bed, hair messy and cheeks softened from the strain of his own compulsions, he was beautiful. Beautiful, and  _ tiny,  _ so tiny that often times it hurt to look at him. It  _ hurt,  _ because Kylo wanted nothing more than to loop his arms around that fragile waist, squeeze bruises into his alabaster skin, have that sharpness pressed against him always, longing,  _ valuing.  _ Adoring what Kylo could hardly admit to himself, adoring the feeling of  _ them, their bodies, aligned so perfectly.  _

And Armitage had given him so much, without knowing. He made Kylo feel  _ bigger, stronger,  _ capable of warding off anything he needed, capable of keeping Hux small and safe and hidden away in his arms.

_ (Ben always had the suspicion that his peers, his family, thought him incapable. Or rather, capable of too much, none of it good; it weighed on him like a stone, pressing him down further and further until he’d tried to drown the thoughts in a river of blood, nails tearing into his own skin as the lightsaber tore into his fellow Jedi.) _

Finally, Kylo came to lie on the bed beside Hux, his hand clasped tight around a fragile, brittle arm, sliding further around his slight frame. It felt better, this way, with Hux propped on his chest, clinging to him with such  _ desperation.  _ His skin was warm, chest heaving, eyelashes fluttering while still half-caught in the throes of a strange dream. One hand tangled into Kylo’s shirt, a wordless, dreamt plea for  _ help,  _ protection and comfort.

He kissed Armitage’s forehead.

_ Mine,  _ he thought,  _ my rival, my lover and my foil-- it doesn’t matter, in the end, what term befalls him. He’s mine, as I am his. This is a struggle we must face together. _

 

* * *

 

 

Hux shivered as he pulled himself out of a dream, the vestiges of a trance laid before his eyelids, a room that seemed to sparkle around him when he sat forward. There was an arm wound tight about him, his own body feeling brittle and  _ worthless  _ once he’d gazed upon the muscled bicep of the toned appendage. His nose scrunched, only momentarily, turning his head back at a gentle rub of his hip.

“Ren,” he breathes, finally, and he finds it somehow a relief, to see Kylo, that anchoring presence. _ Big, strong, broader than anyone he’d had before.  _ Surrounding him snugly, keeping him safe and tiny and tucked away from his father’s influence.

“Y’wake…” Kylo grumbles out, still half groggy from sleep. He pulls Hux back to him, jerking on his slight waist almost too roughly, half pressing his weight on top of the slight ginger as he lays a messy kiss over the bare skin of his throat.

Hux, in spite of it all, laughs, shaking his head and stretching, turning to lay his own mark along Kylo’s jaw. He is almost insistently squirming beneath the Knight, legs stretching out with a pleased sigh, curling up tighter, smaller. Kylo’s fingers stroke along his ribcage, the most delightful sensation tingling through his skin as billions of nerve endings flare with pleasure at the sensation.

Until Kylo stops, encircling the span of Hux’s waist with his hands, still behind him and cold as ever. The ginger shudders, a stream of disgust threading into his nerves, his back aching. For a moment, he expects to be ridiculed-- and he starts. “Ren…”

“You need to take better care of yourself.”

“I  _ do  _ take care of myself,” Hux snaps, pressing backward in an attempt to shake Kylo off of him. His elbow catches between their bodies, an angular edge jutting into Kylo’s side with a sharp thrust. Kylo prevents it, of course, as he always does, stopping Hux in his tracks; his stature was always menacing, and yet as Hux spins around to tell him off, his voice loses track of thought.

“I…” And his throat runs dry. Hux pauses, milling his tongue about his mouth, as though trying to sort out his words. “I apologize…”

“You have nobody to apologize to-- aside from yourself.” The Knight’s voice seems perturbed, frustrated, yet his thumb still smoothes over Hux’s lips  _ oh so gently,  _ as though memorizing the texture of them, the texture of Hux’s body beside his. This  _ awful, skeletal wraith,  _ the  _ too thin-too soft-fat?-weak!  _ frame which has so often betrayed him.

Hux gains the ability to relax, tells himself to  _ stand down _ . His gaze wanders, considering Ren, considering… 

“Snoke told me you were dangerous for me,” Kylo says, then. His voice is laced with a melancholy beyond their being, something tightly-wound, eating him from the inside out. Hux gauges him, waiting.

“Why?” He inquires, finally.

“Because you made me-- make me… real? Human. I would…” His eyes flicker shut. The words Armitage is so dreading pass, between them, yet not aloud-- only in his mind, only  _ deep. _

_ I would do anything for you. _

It is then that Hux seems to understand. Ren’s form is different, impossibly so, and yet not so different afterall. Instead of pure, lithe muscle, there’s a mass that he’d not recognized before, a  _ weight  _ to him, surrounding, sturdy…  _ perfect.  _ Perfect, because even with the hard planes of Kylo’s figure, there’s a bit that’s fleshy, something he can  _ grip,  _ something--

_ Something that makes him feel small. _

The quiver that Armitage gives now is one of delight, singular in aim. 

“Was I… out for long?”

“A few days,” Ren answers. “I took care of it.”

The wide-eyed look of horror the Knight expects to see never comes. Armitage merely settles against him, then shifts and resettles again, tugging expectantly on Kylo’s arm as he brings it back around him.

“How do I look?” And this question is made with a hint of desperation, the fervency of obsession as Hux borrows closer and tucks in on himself. He lies there with his head in the crook of Ren’s neck and his  _ tiny  _ form absolutely surrounded, beloved,  _ content.  _ He may be able to count his ribs, may look weak, may be…  _ disgusting…  _ but in this moment, this position, he feels  _ so perfect. _

His eyelashes flutter, lips parted innocuously as he breathes, unsteady, in-out and in-out.

Kylo does not hesitate when he replies, “Beautiful.” His hand messes through the matted, dull red locks, unwashed since Hux’s trip to medbay. Armitage smiles, then, languid, reaches up to twine his arms around Kylo’s neck.

“Carry me to the fresher. I feel disgusting.”

“It’s not even dawn yet, Armie.”

“Well. We’re both awake, aren’t we?”

 

* * *

 

 

There is something wonderful about standing beneath a stream of water, so different than the sonic showers Hux took at the academy, so different than the quick wash-up in the basin of a cargo ship’s fresher, as Kylo had known. It’s rejuvenating, wonderful; to be in such a warm, tender embrace, to allow lips a meeting and hands free roam over the planes of another’s body.

Yet there is still that ache.

That ache, when Armitage feels Kylo circling his waist with two hands, the ache that causes him to shudder from insecurity, to expect a curse or a scoff. The nagging of his peers, telling him  _ you’re nothing more than a pretty face, a skinny, weak form that likes to kiss your superiors’ arses.  _ Brendol, reminding him of his  _ unfortunate figure,  _ his  _ femininity,  _ his  _ waifish, reedy body, so useless, couldn’t stand in a fight for more than a few seconds. _

It’s an ache that Kylo remembers differently. An ache, at the ridicule of those his age, laughing at his  _ big nose, big ears, skin all blotchy and red and you cry so easily, don’t you, Benny?  _ An ache from his parents, slapping his back and telling him he was getting  _ big,  _ the ache of his sudden growth spurt and the awkwardness of his rounded stomach and asymmetrical muscles. 

Because they’re both imperfect; they both know it, at their epicenter, in their core, the byproduct of their own  _ failures  _ and  _ insecurities  _ and  _ repulsions  _ that sprouted up without control and forced them to become what they are now. Filthy, unattractive  _ heathens,  _ too small and too big, too skinny or too hungered, anorexic and a binge-eater, two people that just want to make  _ something  _ work.

It’s terrifying. The thought of this  _ craving,  _ the craving for each other, is a beautifully terrible thing.

But fear slips away at the  _ loving, desiring  _ quality of soft-spoken words, venerating.

“You’re  _ tiny,  _ Armitage, so small... _ ” _

“You’re  _ big, everywhere, and so warm.  _ So warm, Kylo. _ ” _

And this is as much an absolution as it is a descent.

* * *

 

 

**Epilogue**

 

He wakes stretched on his side; bones popping once he attempts to shift, the lanky, unmanaged shape of his angular body appearing a mess when silhouetted on the backdrop of soft, white sheets. Armitage is stiff, joints still aching from the unfortunate position he’d been in when he fell asleep in the early hours of the morning. His toes flex, curling a bit to regain feeling through his feet. The motion is almost like an attempt to pose a question to his own mind, and Hux vaguely imagines he is supposed to prepare for the day ahead of him-- to continue, swiftly and promptly, in the duties set before him as Emperor.

Yet even the certainty of impending consequence refuses to motivate Armitage’s movement. No…  _ how could he move,  _ with the cherished weight of massive arms encircling him, the hot breath cast along the nape of his neck, husky and warm?  _ Why  _ would he bother, when here he’s promised protection, the wonderous gift of Kylo’s enjoyment from his fragile figure?

Kylo’s teeth nip, gentle, at the base of his throat. Soft, wispy locks of black hair tickle the ginger’s angled jaw, unwittingly pulling a smile to his face. It is only when Kylo slides a hand--thick and large, capable of taking whatever it wishes-- along the soft planes of Hux’s concave chest that he shivers and yelps. Fingers twist at a pert nipple, teasing him into a hazy state of consciousness.

“I need to get out of bed,” he tells the Knight.

Kylo merely kisses him-- always effective in quelling any protest Armitage has. “Stay.”

“It’s like you’re a pfaasking parasite,” Hux snaps, though he is unable to feel even frustrated once his hips slide back and the monstrous press of Ren’s cock through his trousers once again. He is even more impressed at the soft protrusion of Kylo’s lower belly, slid along to his back as they press against each other, a meaty thigh that still holds a strong shape in musculature nudging Hux’s legs apart, pushing into the gap between them until it rubs against Hux’s balls.

Armitage bites his lip, rough, to keep from rutting against the offered leg like an animal.

“A parasite?” Kylo questions. “Your parasite, rather. I can never pass up a chance to play with my most lovely victim.”

Hux feels dwarfed… and he loves it. He is  _ in love  _ with it, this feeling, the strong body behind him, manhandling him as though he’s nothing more than a weightless feather, of his Knight’s thick, warm flesh, so heated and solid. Kylo is still powerful, of course-- more powerful than ever, and somehow stronger than when he’d only been a sinewy body of chiseled features. This is different, and yet so wonderful-- there is nothing Armitage enjoys more than curling against Ren’s  _ big  _ chest, feeding him berries and chocolate with adept fingers and watching as Kylo licks them clean of juice.

“Love you--” Hux admits, then. It’s true, even if it falls from a moment of shock at the surreal situation, causes Hux to feel weak for admitting to such sentimentality. He corrects: “Even if you are a blithering, histrionic  _ moron.” _

“Says the one throwing himself at my dick every week--”

Hux groans and Kylo chuckles. His capacious digits have slid lower, caressing the small of his Emperor’s back with a thumb as his other fingers probe over that still-slick rim, the inside of Armitage’s hole warm and easily pliant to intrusion. Armitage moans, back bending like a bow in a surprised quiver. The lack of body fat has made him oversensitive, more  _ eager.  _ He is always cold, appreciative of Ren’s warmth, the  _ heat  _ that erupts from within once he has his Knight inside of him, claiming his body in whatever way is desired.

“So perfect,” Ren tells him, and laves over his throat again with a rough tongue. Then, as an afterthought, Kylo pats his backside, an almost affectionate  _ spank,  _ and pulls him closer. “You have a meeting soon.:

“I’m well aware.”

“They need you less than I do.”

“You’re  _ incorrigible,”  _ Hux spits, flicking the man’s forehead and rolling over as he attempts to stumble out from the obtrusive blankets (and an obtrusive partner.) 

He inelegantly falls in a heap on the floor.

_ “Very  _ classy, Emperor Hux.”

“That was on  _ you,  _ Ren, and you know it.” Kylo watches amused as Hux stands, brushes himself down with those pretty, petite hands, Armitage’s glare of vitriol not deterring his good humor. “I should punish you for that,” Hux adds, as an afterthought.

“How about a kiss instead?”

Seriously, he is  _ far  _ too pleased for his own good.

Armitage still acquiesces. “Fine.” 

His Knight leans forward to seal their lips; he tongues into a warm mouth with the evident intent to devour, reaching out and taking hold of Armitage’s tiny hips, squeezing his waist, his ass, whatever flesh he can get his hands on. Kylo’s mouth is sweet, all exotic fruit and sweet remnants of cream and sugar, and Hux  _ loves  _ it, loves taking the time to savor this taste he wouldn’t dare to devour himself.

“I love it when you blush, red like your hair--”

“Quiet.”

“--but that blushy ass of yours is even cuter, all freckled and soft, that pretty pink hole--”

Hux smacks at Ren’s shoulder, pushing him back down onto the silken blankets, even as weak as the gesture appears. Standing up like this is too often dizzying, and while his figure is certainly more filled out than it was in his youth, he is still  _ skinny,  _ frail.

Kylo calls out to his lover’s turned back, as though reading his mind. “Don’t forget your stims, Armitage! Or the ration bar-- I packed them for you.”

It may be a vice, but Hux doesn’t think either of them care, not anymore. 

They’re perfect together, in their own world within these chambers. And to be  _ perfect _ is all that Armitage Hux has ever wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending is kind of left on an open note, albeit a semi-dark one, but I'd love to see what your opinions are. Comments always help make my day-- and believe me, today has been The Worst.
> 
> Once again, if you or anyone you know is suffering from an eating disorder, I would advise you to talk to someone-- a counselor, a doctor, a friend. If you are uncomfortable talking with the former, then there is a wonderful resource site known as the [NEDA,](http://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/resource-links) which has links to global organizations you can talk with based on your geographical location.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on my new tumblr [here.](http://www.symphorophilian.tumblr.com)


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